an old writer and his words

  • A SUMMER EVE

    I can’t remember what year it was,or why I was in his apartment, halfsprawled across the sofa, my girlfriend sitting with his,or one of his, he had many,on the floor, listening to Inside Bert Somers, and thinkingthat was the last place on earthI intended to go  that evening. I recall the wine was good, butthen anything a…

    Lou Faber

  • Seizei’s Poverty 無門關 十

    Sozan shoutedto no onein particular“You may yet havethe finest wine, butonly when youhave nothing willyou taste iton your tongue. A reflection on Case 10 of the Mumonkan (The Gateless Gate Koans)

    Lou Faber

  • HEAVEN, UTAH

    We would sit around the small parkas evening made a hasty retreatto somewhere, anywhere more livelythan Salt Lake City in the heart of summer. We’d pass a jug of whatever wascheapest at the state package store,usuall Gallo this or that, and roll jointswhich made their way around our circle. The cops would drive by every…

    Lou Faber

  • PARTY

    In my dreams I am invitedto an almost endless cycleof parties where I always fit inand share attention as I give it. It’s different in my day life, whereI draw only the occasional invitation,and then usually as the plus one,and I am expert at finding corners, where I can be observer, notobserved, and need not…

    Lou Faber

  • WAITING FOR TEACHER

    It should come as no surprise, for both Buddhism and Hinduism grew out of the same fertile soil. An older Hindu man said, “do not look for your Guru. When you are ready, your Guru will find you.” I knew the Buddhist equivalent, and its corollary, when the student is ready, the teacher disappears. My…

    Lou Faber

  • DE GUSTIBUS

    As the last of the wine glasses is put back on the shelf the Brut recorked and the dishes set in the tray to dry we take a slow walk after the meal hoping the arrabiatta sauce will be less angry, the pasta less weighty, when we arrive back home to the sofa and the…

    Lou Faber

  • ON LANDING

    They have a youth that you think should make you envious, poured into clothing that would be a second skin, if skin were silk and polyester, patterned tights hair ironed straight, colored highlights and you still recall when this what a fascinated you, when you would have found it alluring. You probe the corners of…

    Lou Faber

  • EARLY NIGHT AT THE CLUB

    It begins lowly quietly, then grows builds until, all players together, it hits a point where you hope it is a crescendo, but it still grows ever louder and you retreat from the club, half-finished glass of wine on the table, knowing that when you reach the back door your evening is over.

    Lou Faber

  • MEMORY OF THE VINE

    The conversation flows freely, piles up on the table, amid dishes from a meal now fully consumed, as the last of the wine reluctantly cedes its grip on the bottle and settles into the glasses. In Abruzzi, the vintner imagined this, staring at the grapes pulled lovingly from the now ancient vines. As night draws…

    Lou Faber

  • NANSEN’S HUT

    If you have fine china you will be saddened when it breaks. If your pantry is full your anxiety grows as the food diminishes. But if you are alone with nothing, the apple that falls on the road is a feast, and the stream runs free with the finest wine. The silence of sun and…

    Lou Faber